


Look At Me

by NightRoseBud



Category: Original Work
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Horror based, Sleep Paralysis, shadow creature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28793127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightRoseBud/pseuds/NightRoseBud
Summary: Choose Your Own Adventure, horror edition. I have a lot of different descriptions in this story that may cause seem people to be triggered. Proceed with care. Three distinct endings are available, can you find them all?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Look At Me

"And finally, we leave the Jameson Manor, in its entirety, to our only child, to be sold at the earliest convenience."

You blinked as the lawyer read the last of the will. You were an only child, so having your parents leave everything to you did not surprise you. But selling the Manor? That was a shock.

Your father came from a large family, ten children in total born to your grandparents. Jonathon Jameson had been your father's uncle, your great uncle. A man of considerable wealth, with skin tanned from the sun of faraway lands, prematurely white hair, and a bright smile. He had never married and never had children and so traveled the world on many expeditions and adventures with no obligations waiting for him at home. You never knew exactly what he did, but you had many fond memories of sitting with him as a child and listening to his tales of his exploits, of beautiful cities and people, of exotic animals and foods, of the breathtaking art and music.

He was not careless with his money, but anyone in your father's family who needed money to attend college would have their studies paid for. Each high schooler received a trip to Europe when they graduated. Babies would have a bank account in their name as soon as they drew their first breath. Uncle Jon was good to his family.

The trouble started around your fifteenth birthday when Uncle Jon bought the Manor. A small estate several hours north of the city you lived in, it was a beautiful home with a garden near some isolated woods. You had spent a summer there with some of your cousins. You remember it was a fun summer as your Uncle Jon spoiled all the kids for several weeks.

That fall, Uncle Jon started to change. He was getting older and was spending more time at the Manor. He would visit your home for dinner several times a month, and your family started to notice how tired and withdrawn he was becoming. You caught your father and Uncle Jon talking one night as you got up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water.

"It's... it's becoming bolder," Uncle Jon was saying, and you paused on the stairs so that the two men in the study wouldn't see you.

"What's becoming bolder, Uncle Jon?" your father asked in a whisper, and you slowly sat down so that you could listen in on their conversation.

Uncle Jon took a drink of amber liquid and winced. "It wanted me to name it at some point. I couldn't think of one, and it got upset. It wouldn't let me sleep for a week after that. Finally, I called it Steve. _Steve._ And it liked that name. You would think a horror like that would want a demon's name, but no. It liked the name _Steve_." Uncle Jon gave a short laugh, something that sounded brittle and cold.

"Uncle Jon," your father started, sounding uncertain, "Maybe, it's, you know—"

"My imagination? A nightmare? I already considered sleep paralysis, but the doctors couldn't find anything when I did the sleep study. It's only when I am at the damn Manor. I think Steve lives in the woods and only comes out to torture me."

"So sell it, Uncle Jon," your father suggested. "It's not like you can't afford to move."

"No, no I can't," Uncle Jon said with a sigh. "The Manor has a history of deaths. Now I know from what. I think Steve killed them. If I sold that house to someone, and it killed them... wouldn't be able to live with myself."

You heard your mother stirring in the bedroom, and you quickly and quietly went back to your own. You wanted to hear more about the creature bothering your Uncle, even if it was his imagination, but you never got the courage to ask him about it.

Eventually, your Uncle Jon did move back to the city, although he kept the Manor. He would visit the house ever so often, coming back from his trips looking tired. "It's Steve," he would explain to your mother if she asked what kept him up at night. "The bastard doesn't know when to shut up," he would say with a fake smile.

* * *

Things continued in the same vein for several years until it was your turn to go to Europe and attend college with Uncle Jon's money. You never really found dating exciting and didn't want children. "Good," Uncle Jon said with a laugh. "It's different than it was in my day. You don't have to start a family if you don't want. Be free, kid. The world awaits."

Uncle Jon still talked about his demon, not trying to hide the fact that Steve was not at all human, and others in your father's family mocked him and called him crazy behind his back for it. They always took his money, of course. You and your parents never made fun of him for it, and he started to spend more and more time with just your family.

Uncle Jon decided to take a trip one year, a six-month tour of the world. When he came back, he went back to the Manor and spent a few weeks there. He came over for dinner one night to your apartment, and you felt your jaw drop in shock. "Uncle Jon," you breathed. "Are you okay?"

"No, kid, I am not," he said with a weary sigh. "Have any brandy?"

He devoured the food you had made and downed his first drink in under a minute, and only after you were done with your meal did he speak. "Steve was angry I left," he explained. "He has kept me up all week and destroyed all the food in my kitchen. He threatened to go after the groundskeeper if I tried to leave." You didn't believe in the creature, of course, but seeing your great uncle in this state gave you pause. Maybe allowing Uncle Jon to believe in this being had been a mistake after all.

"I don't think I'm long for this world, kid," he continued, sipping his second brandy. "I don't know what I can do about that house, though. I don't want it sold after I kick the bucket."

"Give it to mom and dad," you said without thinking. "You know they would honor your wishes and not sell it if you told them not to."

"Maybe," Uncle Jon agreed. He looked at you with tired eyes. "Promise me, kid. Promise that you won't let your parents stay there. Promise that you will never stay in that house either."

"I promise," you said honestly. You didn't believe Steve was real, but you didn't think Uncle Jon could pay you enough money to stay there at this point.

"Good," he said. "Just let the bastard be alone. He hates it. Let him rot, for all I care."

* * *

Uncle Jon made a bit of a recovery over the next few weeks. He moved his groundskeeper off the property. "Steve can't leave the property apparently," Uncle Jon explained to your family one night. "He can only torture someone if they are in the house."

"Then don't go back," your father begged.

"Just one more night," Uncle Jon said. "Still packing up some things that I don't want to leave there. No worries. I don't think that thing realizes what I'm planning."

Uncle Jon left that night in good spirits. He gave you and your parents hearty hugs, and his bright smile flashed as he went to his car and left.

You never saw him alive again.

Several days later, your parents started to worry when Uncle Jon didn't show up for dinner. Your father went up to the Manor the next day to check on the older man. He found Uncle Jon in bed, bed sheets twisted in his hands. Your father would later say, after the funeral, that the look on Uncle Jon's face was one of shock and terror. He did not die peacefully.

The Manor had been locked, with no signs of forced entry. The police decided that there were no signs of foul play. The funeral was well-attended. The reading of the will was even more crowded.

You and your parents were astounded when Uncle Jon left everything, every last cent, to your family. There was only one rule.

Don't sell the Jameson Manor.

Other family members cried foul and would shun your family for a few years after, but you couldn't find the ability to be upset by it. They had mocked Jonathon Jameson behind his back, after all. And they would have sold the house against your great uncle's wishes. Even if Steve wasn't real, your Uncle Jon thought it was, and he didn't want the house to leave the family just yet.

Your father did stay at the house once. He needed to interview a new groundskeeper and decided to stay in the Manor instead of going to a hotel. He had asked if you would join him, but you declined. It had been years since Uncle Jon's death, but memories of his stories about Steve still lingered. You almost couldn't wait to call your father the next day, worried that he wouldn't pick up, and you would have to make your own trip to the Manor to find your father dead in his bed.

"Everything was fine," he said with a chuckle. "It was creepy; I won't lie about that. But nothing came out of the darkness. No monsters. No one was asking me to name them. Nothing."

"So, Uncle Jon was crazy, after all?"

"Now, I didn't say that," your father quickly said. "I think... he just had a very active imagination."

* * *

Years passed. Your parents continued the tradition of gifting money to the family. Every baby had a bank account; every grad got a trip; every college student had their tuition paid in full; the Jameson Manor stood empty. Life would have continued that way, but one night there was a horrible car accident. Both of your parents died. You were told there was no suffering or pain, but the shock was still hard to bear. Their funeral was small, many of your relatives still being friendly and respectful. But you could feel their unasked questions. _Would you get everything? Would their cash cow disappear?_ At that point, you weren't sure of your plans.

It was just you at the reading of the will. As you suspected, your parents left all of the money to you. The part of the will where your parents wanted you to sell the Manor was the only shock.

"It's too expensive to keep, I'm afraid," your parents' financial advisor explained to you a week later. "Your great Uncle had left a separate account for its' care and upkeep, but it was due to run out in a decade." The older man passed you a sheet of paper, numbers slowly shrinking as the years passed. "They didn't want to sell it, but it didn't make sense for them to keep it and still live in the city. That is why they were in the accident, you see: they went to the Manor to open it up for a prospective buyer." The man sighed as he cleaned his glasses. "I'm sorry for your loss," he added as an afterthought.

"Can I keep it? It was important to my uncle that it stays in the family."

"Well, if you stop your uncle's tradition of gifting money at every major life event, yes," the man explained. "But better you sell it; it's what I recommend."

You sighed as you looked at the paper again. It was a big decision to make, one that you couldn't put off and one you couldn't make while you were in the city. You would have to make a choice soon. And the best thing was to see the Manor in person.

You would have to make a trip to Jameson Manor.

* * *

The weekend you choose to travel to the Manor was cold and rainy, but you made good time and got to the Manor before dark. The groundskeeper was waiting for you outside. "I'm sorry about your parents," he said while shaking your hand. "They only came up because I was sick that day."

"Not your fault," you told him. "Show me around?" you asked, trying to change the subject.

It was mostly as you remembered it from when you were fifteen—a large kitchen, an extensive library full of Uncle Jon's collection, a glass-covered patio that stayed warm even during the winter. There were three large bedrooms where you and several of your cousins shared the floor in sleeping bags. The master bedroom was massive, taking up half of the second floor. And airy attic and comfortable basement gave plenty of storage space. It would be a wonderful place to live.

Except for the alleged monster that lived there.

"Steve?" the groundskeeper said when you asked him if he knew the story as you two looked over the small garden. "The monster your father told me about? Nah, I never saw anything. Although, I was never here after dark. That was your father's rule. Don't be here alone after dark."

You spent the tour in silence, trying to look at the Manor objectively. Should you sell it? It was a beautiful house; it could make a fine home for someone. Selling it could set you for life. You could continue giving gifts to your father's family and still have a lot left over for yourself. But there was still a nagging feeling that selling it would be wrong.

When the sun was starting to set, you and the groundskeeper went out to your separate cars. Only your car wouldn't start. The groundskeeper came over to help you, taking a look under the hood. "How long have you had it?" he asked.

"Too long," you confessed. You and your parents were well off, but you still had a bad habit of hanging onto cars until they died.

"Well, I could go get the town mechanic," he said. "But he is a drunkard. He would be halfway through a twelve pack by now." The groundskeeper looked around at the darkening woods around the Manor. "Would you like me to take you to the motel?"

"No," you said. It was silly, being afraid of an empty house. It would be a waste of money to stay in a motel. "I'll stay here. Just bring the mechanic first thing in the morning, yeah?"

"If you insist," he replied. He looked up at the Manor. "I know I said I hadn't seen anything, but you couldn't pay me enough money to stay the night here."

* * *

The groundskeeper helped you bring some firewood into the house, and you started a fire in the fireplace in the master bedroom. You were glad that you had eaten a large lunch, as you took one last tour through the house. You checked all doors and windows, making sure that they were all locked. You looked at some of the artifacts still in the study, using the flashlight the groundskeeper lent you. Everything looked normal.

You climb the back staircase, what the servants would have used to bring something up to the second story, to get upstairs. Twelve steep steps were so narrow that your shoulders almost touched the walls.

_POP,_ went the third step.

_CREEAAKK,_ went the fifth step.

_pa-POP,_ when the ninth step.

_GRooooaann,_ went the tenth step.

You retired to the bedroom, turning down the thankfully clean sheets on the bed. The turned off flashlight threw the room into total darkness, and you settled into bed, trying to relax. It was spooky, yes, but how much was your fear of the unknown, and how much were the stories you grew up with making you nervous?

You stay like that, you don't know how long, eyes closed. You didn't check your phone. It would only drain the battery. You started to feel yourself fall asleep, a light, airy feeling that meant unconsciousness would soon take you.

_POP_

The sound pierced the quiet like a gunshot, and even though you don't know the layout of the house very well, you can tell it's coming from the back staircase. The third step made that sound when you were climbing the stairs. _Impossible._ It was just the house settling.

_CREEAAKK_

That was loud enough to make you jump. You stayed in bed, though, your eyes still closed. Yes, the house setting, old houses did that all the time.

_pa-POP_

You jerk at the sound, trying to get up, but the light feeling you had been experiencing before was replaced by a heaviness in your limbs that made movement futile. 

_GRooooaann._

That sound was drawn out, like whoever, _whatever,_ was pausing, listening for you just as you were listening for it. You tried to move, get up, reach for your phone, open your _fucking eyes_ , anything, but except for your galloping heart, you are as still as a statue.

The silence that followed was deafening, and you strained for any noise to tell you if you were truly alone or not.

The door opening was probably the most terrifying sound you had ever heard in your life.

Something was coming into the room, sniffing, padding across the floor. You wanted to scream, to run in terror, but you could move no matter how hard you tried. It was getting closer to the bed as you fought your paralysis. You felt something brush against the bedcovers. When it was next to your head, your felt its breath, inexplicitly cold. It settled by the bed, and the silence stretched on for what felt like hours.

"Hello there."

You jump at the voice, low and soft. Whatever it was, chuckled at your jerking motion. "Oh, don't be alarmed," it purred. "I won't hurt you. You are the first person I have seen in years. I wouldn't want to harm a guest."

You thought you felt a hand hover over your face, and you would have recoiled if you could. It didn't touch you, though, and you sighed in relief when you felt the hand retreat.

"Steve," you are able to grit out from a mouth that wouldn't move, and the creature next to you giggled.

"So you knew Jon!" it softly exclaimed, voice light and musical. "Did he talk about me often? Or just mention that he named me." It sighed, and you felt the cold breath again. How could a living creature have cold breath like that? "I have missed talking to him, I have. I yearn to play our games again. Would you play with me? Please say yes, I do so want to talk to someone new."

**Yes...  
No... **

"NO!"

The word comes out in a scream, the paralysis completely gone. You scrambled backward, away from whatever crouched next to your bed. Your eyes were open, but with the flashlight off, you can't see a damn thing. You grabbed the flashlight and turned it on with shaking hands, throwing the light in all directions, trying to find the source of the voice. Nothing, there is nothing in the room with you. You pant and try to calm your racing heart.

A dream, a nightmare. It had to be. Born from your overactive imagination and too many ghost stories from Uncle Jon.

You settled back on the headboard, all thoughts of sleep gone. Maybe sleep in the car? No, that was stupid. It was only a dream.

You fell asleep at one point in the early morning hours. The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked.

"Nope," you answered, as a man with a scowl opened your hood. "Just the house settling."

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggle to talk, trying to get out one word of resistance, to tell this thing to get the hell away from you. But you can't, your mouth and throat are closed. The thing giggles again, a high light tone that reminds you of a small child. The bed shifts, and you feel a weight on the bed, settling over you. It feels massive, heavy, and you are caged on the bed, no escape.

"Oh, what to play, what play," it murmured, mostly to itself. "I should let you choose; you're the guest. It's only polite. Oh!" You felt it lean closer, and that cold breath is back, now on your throat, like its mouth is right next to you. It made your skin crawl. "What about, 'what do I look like?' Yes? I like that one, where you tell me what you think I look like. Yes? Won't that be fun?"

You can't respond, of course, but the creature starts to wiggle, like an oversized excited puppy. "Yes. 'What do I look like?' I will get you started, yes? You are the guest; you need a little direction to start, yes?"

It paused, making a noise, a groan that would sound playful if a human was making it, but coming from this thing? It sounded terrifying.

"My eyes... We start with the eyes." It drew out the last syllable, a low hiss that made your stomach drop. "What do my eyes look like?"

**Tired...  
Bright...  
Big...**

You haven't opened your eyes, but you suddenly imagined that the figure above you, pressing you into the bed, as a black outline with no features. You see tired eyes start to form on its face. Large, red, bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath them, like a character from the old cartoons. The eyes are wet and slowly blink at you.

"Oh, I don't like these eyes," the creature murmured, actually sounding upset. You don't see a mouth, just the eyes moving around the room. "They feel so heavy.

"I don't sleep, you know," Steve continued, and you can see in your mind's eye that it is rubbing at its eyes. "I see you humans sleep all the time, _so much_ time spent sleeping. But when you don't, you look like this. Tired, so tired. Maybe I am tired; maybe I _should_ sleep."

It paused and looked at you, and the look it gives you is so exhausted it makes your own eyes water, even though your eyes are still closed. "Will you open your eyes? See what eyes you gave me in person?"

**Yes...  
No... **

You haven't opened your eyes, but you suddenly imagined that the figure above you, pressing you into the bed, as a black outline with no features. Bright ovals started to form on its face. They are large, oversized for a human, but it blinks, and you realize the ovals are eyes. They are shining, the light from them inside the eye, not a reflection of existing light.

"Oh, I like these eyes," it said. You don't see a mouth, but the eyes change shape like the creature is smiling and making the eyes squint. "They would help me see in the dark.

"I can only move in the nighttime, you know. The daylight hurts. It burns. But these eyes would help me move around at night."

It paused and looked at you, and the look it gives you is so excited as the eyes glow an unearthly hue. It makes you nervous, even though your eyes are still closed. "Will you open your eyes? See what eyes you gave me in person?"

**Yes...  
No... **

You haven't opened your eyes, but you suddenly imagined that the figure above you, pressing you into the bed, as a black outline with no features. Eyes start to form in its face, large and bulbous, sticking out from its head. They point in different directions, and looking at them makes you feel sick to your stomach.

"Oh, you do have a low opinion of me, don't you?" it asked. The voice is still low, but the teasing tone it had is gone. You sensed that it was angry.

"Do you really think I look like this? Like an animal that lives in a cave? I don't look like this, not really. My real eyes aren't this large."

It paused and looked at you, and the look it gave you is angry as the eyes start to move around the room, independent of each other. It made you feel ill, even though your eyes are still closed. "Will you open your eyes? See how these eyes move in person?"

**Yes...  
No... **

You struggled to move with the weight on you, but just as you can get your eyes open, the pressure is lifted. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. Your eyes were open, but with the flashlight off, you can't see a damn thing. You grabbed the flashlight and turned it on with shaking hands, throwing the light in all directions, trying to find the source of the voice. Nothing, there is nothing in the room with you. You pant and try to calm your racing heart.

A dream, a nightmare. It had to be. Born from your overactive imagination and too many ghost stories from Uncle Jon. 

But as you settled back on the headboard, you thout you hear something scuttling down the stairs, and then you noticed the bedroom door open when you remember closing it before going to bed. All thoughts of sleep gone. Maybe sleep in the car? No, that was stupid. Whatever it was could still get you in the car.

You couldn't get back to sleep, jumping at every sound the house made in the dead of night. The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked.

"Apparently," you said, speaking slowly, "he really hates having tired eyes." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment.

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to move with the weight on you, but just as you can get your eyes open, the pressure is lifted. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. Your eyes were open, but with the flashlight off, you can't see a damn thing. You grabbed the flashlight and turned it on with shaking hands, throwing the light in all directions, trying to find the source of the voice. Nothing, there is nothing in the room with you. You pant and try to calm your racing heart.

A dream, a nightmare. It had to be. Born from your overactive imagination and too many ghost stories from Uncle Jon. 

But as you settled back on the headboard, you thought you hear something scuttling down the stairs, and then you noticed the bedroom door open when you remember closing it before going to bed. All thoughts of sleep gone. Maybe sleep in the car? No, that was stupid. Whatever it was could still get you in the car.

You couldn't get back to sleep, jumping at every sound the house made in the dead of night. The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked.

"Apparently," you said, speaking slowly, "he really loves having glowing eyes." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment.

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to move with the weight on you, but just as you can get your eyes open, the pressure is lifted. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. Your eyes were open, but with the flashlight off, you can't see a damn thing. You grabbed the flashlight and turned it on with shaking hands, throwing the light in all directions, trying to find the source of the voice. Nothing, there is nothing in the room with you. You pant and try to calm your racing heart.

A dream, a nightmare. It had to be. Born from your overactive imagination and too many ghost stories from Uncle Jon.

But as you settled back on the headboard, you thought you hear something scuttling down the stairs, and then you noticed the bedroom door open when you remember closing it before going to bed. All thoughts of sleep gone. Maybe sleep in the car? No, that was stupid. Whatever it was could still get you in the car.

You couldn't get back to sleep, jumping at every sound the house made in the dead of night. The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked.

"Apparently," you said, speaking slowly, "he really loathes big eyes." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment.

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to open your eyes, move your arms, get this thing off of you, _anything,_ but you are powerless with this creature on you. You don't know why it gives you a choice; it's not like you can change anything.

"Just as well," it sighed, and you feel something brush on your forehead. You would have jerked out of its reach if you could only _move._ "Maybe your next choice will be better than these eyes."

It hesitated, and you feel the caress on your forehead again. "Tell me," it whispered, cold breath blowing on your face. "What do you think my hands are like?"

**Cold...  
Sharp...  
Ticklish... **

You struggled to open your eyes, move your arms, get this thing off of you, _anything,_ but you are powerless with this creature on you. You don't know why it gives you a choice; it's not like you can change anything.

"Good," it sighed, and you feel something brush on your forehead. You would have jerked out of its reach if you could only _move._ "I like these eyes. I hope your next choice makes me just as happy."

It hesitated, and you feel the caress on your forehead again. "Tell me," it whispered, cold breath blowing on your face. "What do you think my hands are like?"

**Cold...  
Sharp...  
Ticklish... **

You struggled to open your eyes, move your arms, get this thing off of you, _anything,_ but you are powerless with this creature on you. You don't know why it gives you a choice; it's not like you can change anything.

"Just as well," it sighed, and you feel something brush on your forehead. You would have jerked out of its reach if you could only _move._ "Maybe your next choice will be better than these horrid eyes."

It hesitated, and you feel the caress on your forehead again. "Tell me," it whispered, cold breath blowing on your face. "What do you think my hands are like?

**Cold...  
Sharp...  
Ticklish... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, but you think that if the creature had cold breath, it must have cold hands. But it is not human hands you imagine, but tentacles, with frigid, wet skin.

"Oh, this is not good," it whined. It started to run its tentacles over your face, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I don't like these hands, I can't hold anything with them." The tentacles wrapped around your throat lightly and gently squeezed. "Well, they can, but not well."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you moaned in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, but you think that if the creature had cold breath, it must have cold hands. But it is not human hands you imagine, but tentacles, with frigid, wet skin.

"Oh, this is not good," it whined. It started to run its tentacles over your face, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "You did so well with the eyes, I don't like these hands, I can't hold anything with them." The tentacles wrapped around your throat lightly and gently squeezed. "Well, they can, but not well."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you moaned in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, but you think that if the creature had cold breath, it must have cold hands. But it is not human hands you imagine, but tentacles, with frigid, wet skin.

"Oh, this is not good," it whined. It started to run its tentacles over your face, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I don't like these hands, I can't hold anything with them." The tentacles wrapped around your throat lightly and gently squeezed. "Well, they can, but not well."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you moaned in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, and your imagination kicked into overdrive. You can only assume that a monster like this would have sharp claws on the end of its fingers.

"Oh, I like these," it purred. It started to run its nails over your face, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I can do so much damage with these hands and their claws. Rip and tear." The hands wrapped around your throat lightly and gently squeezed. "Thank you for such wonderful tools."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you whimpered in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, and your imagination kicked into overdrive. You can only assume that a monster like this would have sharp claws on the end of its fingers.

"Oh, I like these," it purred. It started to run its nails over your face, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I can do so much damage with these hands and their claws. Rip and tear." The hands wrapped around your throat lightly and gently squeezed. "These beautiful eyes, these wonderful hands. Thank you for such wonderful tools."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you whimpered in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, and your imagination kicked into overdrive. You can only assume that a monster like this would have sharp claws on the end of its fingers.

"Oh, I like these," it purred. It started to run its nails over your face, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I can do so much damage with these hands and their claws. Rip and tear." The hands wrapped around your throat lightly and gently squeezed. "Thank you for such wonderful tools."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you whimpered in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, and your imagination kicked into overdrive. You start to imagine some creature with little think hairs on its fingers' pads to help grab and hold unto its victims.

"Oh, these hands are fun," it purred. It started to run its fingers over your face, the little hairs twitching against your skin, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I like these, better than the eyes, but they aren't how my real hands are." The hands wrapped around your throat lightly, and the tickling was weird and unpleasant. "Thank you for such fun tools."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you whimpered in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, and your imagination kicked into overdrive. You start to imagine some creature with little think hairs on its fingers' pads to help grab and hold unto its victims.

"Oh, these hands are fun," it purred. It started to run its fingers over your face, the little hairs twitching against your skin, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I like these, not as good as the eyes, but they aren't how my real hands are." The hands wrapped around your throat lightly, and the tickling was weird and unpleasant. "Thank you for such fun tools."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you whimpered in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

Not opening your eyes is torture, and your imagination kicked into overdrive. You start to imagine some creature with little think hairs on its fingers' pads to help grab and hold unto its victims.

"Oh, these hands are fun," it purred. It started to run its fingers over your face, the little hairs twitching against your skin, and you shuddered but weren't able to do anything else. "I like these, better than the eyes, but they aren't how my real hands are." The hands wrapped around your throat lightly, and the tickling was weird and unpleasant. "Thank you for such fun tools."

"Would you like to open your eyes?" it asked as you whimpered in distress. "See what these hands can really do?"

**Yes...  
No... **

You struggled to move with the weight on you; you forced your eyes opened and grabbed at the thing at your throat, and the pressure pressing you into the bed is lifted. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. Your eyes were open, but with the flashlight off, you can't see a damn thing. You grabbed the flashlight and turned it on with shaking hands, throwing the light in all directions, trying to find what was pinning you into the bed. A shadow fled the room, and you hear the sound of something retreating down the stairs.

You dressed as quickly as possible, double-checking that you had everything before running out of the mansion, using the front stairs. Nothing tried to attack you as you unlocked your car and closed the door, locking the car again. You surveyed your surroundings while trying to calm your pounding heart. Was there something in the woods? You didn't know and weren't going to exit the vehicle to find out.

The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, pacing in agitation and eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked. But he blinked in surprise as you barked slightly crazy-sounding laughter.

"Apparently," you said, speaking in a quick and high tone, "he really hates having cold hands." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment.

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to move with the weight on you; you forced your eyes opened and grabbed at the thing at your throat, and the pressure pressing you into the bed is lifted. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. Your eyes were open, but with the flashlight off, you can't see a damn thing. You grabbed the flashlight and turned it on with shaking hands, throwing the light in all directions, trying to find what was pinning you into the bed. A shadow fled the room, and you hear the sound of something retreating down the stairs.

You dressed as quickly as possible, double-checking that you had everything before running out of the mansion, using the front stairs. Nothing tried to attack you as you unlocked your car and closed the door, locking the car again. You surveyed your surroundings while trying to calm your pounding heart. Was there something in the woods? You didn't know and weren't going to exit the vehicle to find out.

The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, pacing in agitation and eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked. But he blinked in surprise as you barked slightly crazy-sounding laughter.

"Apparently," you said, speaking in a quick and high tone, "he really loves having sharp claws." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment.

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to move with the weight on you; you forced your eyes opened and grabbed at the thing at your throat, and the pressure pressing you into the bed is lifted. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. Your eyes were open, but with the flashlight off, you can't see a damn thing. You grabbed the flashlight and turned it on with shaking hands, throwing the light in all directions, trying to find what was pinning you into the bed. A shadow fled the room, and you hear the sound of something retreating down the stairs.

You dressed as quickly as possible, double-checking that you had everything before running out of the mansion, using the front stairs. Nothing tried to attack you as you unlocked your car and closed the door, locking the car again. You surveyed your surroundings while trying to calm your pounding heart. Was there something in the woods? You didn't know and weren't going to exit the vehicle to find out.

The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, pacing in agitation and eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked. But he blinked in surprise as you barked slightly crazy-sounding laughter.

"Apparently," you said, speaking in a quick and high tone, "he finds ticklish hands really funny." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment.

**Back to the beginning? **

You felt the pressure on your throat tighten, and you whined, but you aren't able to wretch away from Steve's grasp and it didn't let go. It chuckled, a cold and emotionless sound.

"Maybe you will be lucky, and give me something better than these eyes or these hands," it sighed into your ear, the cold breath making every hair on your body stand on end. "Last choice: what do you think my smile is like?"

**Spiked...  
Sad...  
Large... **

You felt the pressure on your throat tighten, and you whined, but you aren't able to wretch away from Steve's grasp and it didn't let go. It chuckled, a cold and emotionless sound.

"Don't fret! You are doing so well," it sighed into your ear, the cold breath making every hair on your body stand on end. "Let's see if you can make a good last choice: what do you think my smile is like?"

**Spiked...  
Sad...  
Large... **

Your eyes are still closed, and at this point, you don't think you want them opened to see the horror sitting on your chest. You tried not to think about its mouth; you didn't want to give it anything dangerous to hurt you with. But against your better judgment, you imagine the figure on top of you with a spiked mouth, full of shark teeth, white and gleaming in the dark.

"Ooooo, I like these," Steve mumbled, now talking around its new piercing teeth. "I could do so much damage with these teeth. It is such a great addition to my face."

In your mind's eye, you can see Steve leaning in close to your face, the teeth getting so close you thought you felt them on your jaw, hovering above your throat. "Would you open your eyes? See what you have made?"

**Yes...  
No...  
**

Your eyes are still closed, and at this point, you don't think you want them opened to see the horror sitting on your chest. You tried not to think about its mouth; you didn't want to give it anything dangerous to hurt you with. You tried to think of its mouth as sad, toothless and harmless, pulling down at the edges.

"Ooooo, I don't like this," Steve mumbled, now talking with just its gums. "I can't do any damage with these teeth. It ruins my face."

In your mind's eye, you can see Steve leaning in close to your face, the mouth getting so close you thought you felt light gumming on your jaw, hovering above your throat. "Would you open your eyes? See the horrible mess you have made?"

**Yes...  
No...  
**

Your eyes are still closed, and at this point, you don't think you want them opened to see the horror sitting on your chest. You tried not to think about its mouth; you didn't want to give it anything dangerous to hurt you with. But against your better judgment, you imagine the figure on top of you with a large mouth, splitting its head in half until its open maw could cover your head.

"Ooooo, I like this," Steve mumbled, now talking with a grin that stretched from one side of its head to the other. "I could fit so much in my mouth now."

In your mind's eye, you can see Steve leaning in close to your face, the mouth opening impossibility wide, hovering above your head, ready to swallow your face whole. "Would you open your eyes? See what you have made?"

**Yes...  
No...  
**

Your eyes are still closed, and at this point, you don't think you want them opened to see the horror sitting on your chest. You tried not to think about its mouth; you didn't want to give it anything dangerous to hurt you with. But against your better judgment, you imagine the figure on top of you with a spiked mouth, full of shark teeth, white and gleaming in the dark.

"Ooooo, I like these," Steve mumbled, now talking around its new piercing teeth. "I could do so much damage with these teeth. It is such a great addition to my face."

In your mind's eye, you can see Steve leaning in close to your face, bright eyes glowing, sharp fingers making marks in the cover, teeth ready to rip into you. It's terrifying in your mind's eye, and you think you would lose your mind if you saw it in person.

"I like this, yes. The object of the game is to guess what I really look like, but... I like your choices better. I will let you win. You will be back soon, yes? We can play some games again? I would like that. Very much."

Faintly, you heard the sound of birds outside. They seemed so far away. Steve shifted above you. "It's almost morning, I must go. Don't want to be caught in the light. No, that would not do. Not at all."

It petted your face, one last time, and you would have screamed if you could. You can only manage a slight wheezing noise. "Until next time, new friend," it whispered, cold breath washing over you.

Finally, the weight on you is gone, and you sat upright in bed, panting in fear. A dream? You would have believed it was, except for the tears in the covers.

You ran out of the house, forgetting the groundskeeper's lamp and flashlight, your only concern to run away from the house as fast as you could.

* * *

About an hour later, you walked into the small town near the Manor. You see a garage where the groundskeeper was talking to a sour-looking man. Both men look surprised at your appearance as you practically threw the car keys at the mechanic. "I left your flashlight and lantern at the Manor. I'm sorry you have to go back for them," you explained. You stopped and put a finger in the groundskeeper's face. "Don't. Go. At night." And with that you turned to the diner, rubbing your cold arms because you forgot your coat at the Manor as well.

You are at the counter, looking at the menu but not really reading it. The groundskeeper comes in and sat next to you cautiously like you were a dangerous animal. You snorted. The only dangerous animal was the thing at the Manor. "What happened?" he asked.

"Steve showed up," you explained, not bothering to keep your voice down. The waitress put a cup of coffee in front of you and you wrapped your hands around it for the warmth. "We played a game. I guess I won." You laughed but stopped when the unhinged twitter made everyone look at you.

The groundskeeper just looked at you for a moment. "So what will you do? Sell the place?"

"No," you muttered bitterly. "I can't get rid of it, that thing would just hurt someone else. But no one is going back. We lock it up, board it up, never to be opened again."

"And the money?"

"My family will just have to go without," you said. "I rather go poor than let that house fall into the wrong hands."

The groundskeeper nodded, and got a flask out of his coat, adding some amber liquid to your coffee. You nodded in thanks, gulping it down, thankful for the warmth.

"Well then," he said, gesturing at the waitress for his own cup of coffee. "When do you need the boards?"

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to move with the weight on you; you finally got your arm free and punched at the thing leaning in your face. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. In the grey light of early morning, you saw something fly out of the room, but you are too terrified to give chase. You grabbed your car keys and phone and ran.

* * *

About an hour later, you walked into the small town near the Manor. You see a garage where the groundskeeper was talking to a sour-looking man. Both men look surprised at your appearance as you practically threw the car keys at the mechanic. "I left your flashlight and lantern at the Manor. I'm sorry you have to go back for them," you explained. You stopped and put a finger in the groundskeeper's face. "Don't. Go. At night." And with that you turned to the diner, rubbing your cold arms because you forgot your coat at the Manor as well.

You are at the counter, looking at the menu but not really reading it. The groundskeeper comes in and sat next to you cautiously like you were a dangerous animal. You snorted. The only dangerous animal was the thing at the Manor. "What happened?" he asked.

"Apparently," you said, speaking in a low tone, "he really loves having sharp teeth." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment. The waitress put a cup of coffee in front of you, and you wrapped your hands around it for warmth.

"So what will you do? Sell the place?"

"Yes, I will. Because then it won't be my problem anymore."

"But, what if someone gets hurt?"

You glared at the man. He recoiled on the stool. "Not my problem anymore."

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to move with the weight on you; you finally got your arm free and punched at the thing leaning in your face. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. In the grey light of early morning, you saw something fly out of the room, but you are too terrified to give chase. You grabbed your car keys and phone and ran.

* * *

About an hour later, you walked into the small town near the Manor. You see a garage where the groundskeeper was talking to a sour-looking man. Both men look surprised at your appearance as you practically threw the car keys at the mechanic. "I left your flashlight and lantern at the Manor. I'm sorry you have to go back for them," you explained. You stopped and put a finger in the groundskeeper's face. "Don't. Go. At night." And with that you turned to the diner, rubbing your cold arms because you forgot your coat at the Manor as well.

You are at the counter, looking at the menu but not really reading it. The groundskeeper comes in and sat next to you cautiously like you were a dangerous animal. You snorted. The only dangerous animal was the thing at the Manor. "What happened?" he asked.

"Apparently," you said, speaking in a low tone, "he really hates having a toothless frown." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment. The waitress put a cup of coffee in front of you, and you wrapped your hands around it for warmth.

"So what will you do? Sell the place?"

"Yes, I will. Because then it won't be my problem anymore."

"But, what if someone gets hurt?"

You glared at the man. He recoiled on the stool. "Not my problem anymore."

**Back to the beginning? **

You struggled to move with the weight on you; you finally got your arm free and punched at the thing leaning in your face. You scrambled backward, trying to get away from whatever was on the bed. In the grey light of early morning, you saw something fly out of the room, but you are too terrified to give chase. You grabbed your car keys and phone and ran.

* * *

About an hour later, you walked into the small town near the Manor. You see a garage where the groundskeeper was talking to a sour-looking man. Both men look surprised at your appearance as you practically threw the car keys at the mechanic. "I left your flashlight and lantern at the Manor. I'm sorry you have to go back for them," you explained. You stopped and put a finger in the groundskeeper's face. "Don't. Go. At night." And with that you turned to the diner, rubbing your cold arms because you forgot your coat at the Manor as well.

You are at the counter, looking at the menu but not really reading it. The groundskeeper comes in and sat next to you cautiously like you were a dangerous animal. You snorted. The only dangerous animal was the thing at the Manor. "What happened?" he asked.

"Apparently," you said, speaking in a low tone, "he really likes being able to eat your face." The groundskeeper gave you a weird look but didn't comment. The waitress put a cup of coffee in front of you, and you wrapped your hands around it for warmth.

"So what will you do? Sell the place?"

"Yes, I will. Because then it won't be my problem anymore."

"But, what if someone gets hurt?"

You glared at the man. He recoiled on the stool. "Not my problem anymore."

**Back to the beginning? **

Steve sighed and shifted, and the motion forced all the air out of your lungs. "It's just as well," it sighed. "The point of the game is to guess what I look like, and you did a horrible job. I don't look like what you imagined."

In your imagination, the creature is changing, turning back into a formless black shape. No eyes, no mouth, no details in its limbs. It is not less terrifying, though.

"Well, it was fun, but the game is done." It paused, and you felt the cold breath on your face again. "Didn't you have fun? Didn't you enjoy it?"

You tried to move, to scream, but all you could produce was a wheeze in pain.

"Oh, you didn't like it. Why not? Oh, please don't be mad you lost. I will let you look at me if that would make you happy."

**Yes...  
No... **

You wretched your eyes open, and in the early morning light, you thought you could make out something above you. Before you attempted to push it off of you, something is clamped over your eyes, soft and clammy.

"Oh, thank you for wanting to look at me," Steve said, its voice changing to something deeper, more menacing. "No one ever wants to look. Not even Jon wanted to look, all the years I knew him."

It leaned forward, and you felt a soft brush against your throat. It chuckled, the sound of rolling thunder. You swore it was getting bigger. "But I can't let you see me. No one who has ever seen me lived to tell other about me."

The cold breath was back on your throat, and you shuddered. But you couldn't move, no matter how hard you tried. You didn't think you were going to make it out of this alive.

Faintly, you heard the sound of birds outside. They seemed so far away. Steve shifted above you and growled. "It's almost morning; I must go. Don't want to be caught in the light. No, that would not do. Not at all."

It brushed your throat again, almost as light as a kiss from a lover. Finally, the weight on you is gone, and you sat upright in bed, panting in fear. You heard something running down the stairs and the slam of the back door. You ran to the window, opening the curtains to let in the early morning light.

* * *

The groundskeeper would find you at your car in the morning, pacing in agitation and eager to get it fixed and to get going.

"Any word from Steve?" he joked. But he blinked in surprise as you shuddered and looked into the woods.

"You can think I'm crazy if you want," you said, speaking in a low tone, "but it's real. Steve is real." 

The groundskeeper gave you a weird look and studied where you were looking in the forest. "So what will you do now? Sell the place?"

You thought it over for a long time as a sour-looking man popped the hood of your car. You were not sure what to say.

"No, I will keep," you confirmed. "Can't have the house falling into the wrong hands."

"But the money?" the groundskeeper asked. You didn't blame him. It was his job on the line, after all.

"Well, if my uncle's family wants money, they won't have it. Unless they spend a night in that house," you said while pointing at the Manor. "Let them meet the bastard. Face to face. Then they will see why we have to keep it in the family."

"Would they survive?"

"Only if they play the game."

**Back to the beginning? **

You don't know how, but you were able to shake your head no. You didn't want to see the monster on top of you. You felt large hands, soft and clammy, cradle your head. It sighed.

"No one wants to look at me," it said, voice getting deeper into a rumble. "People are so afraid. It's for the best. If they look at me, I kill them. I have to." The grip on your head started to tighten, making you gasp. "That's why I killed Jon. He looked. All the years I knew him, and he had to look that night. Probably because he was leaving." The grip was getting too tight, making your eyes water and ears ring. "I guess you won't be leaving either."

The monster was squeezing, harder and harder, the pain excruciating. You were able to move and started to kick and punch at the creature, but it was too late. It didn't stop as you felt something snapping inside your head. The last thing you hear is the cracking of your own skull, and a soft chuckle followed by cold breath.

**Back to the beginning? **

**Author's Note:**

> So, did you survive?
> 
> I loved Choose Your Own Adventure books as a kid. Let me know if you liked this, I may make more.
> 
> I have a Tumblr! Follow me to see what I'm working on and other shenanigans: [nightrosebud.tumblr.com](https://nightrosebud.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I wrote a book! Visit me at [thosethatglowgold.tumblr.com](https://thosethatglowgold.tumblr.com/) to learn more.


End file.
